


Hot in the Western Approach

by markantony



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs and sex, M/M, NSFW, Varric and Iron Bull are done with these two's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markantony/pseuds/markantony
Summary: Lavellan blows up Dorian's mind with his attitude - and other things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, my Inquisitor's name is Vaesar. Secondly, I did not proof read this and my mother language is not english. For any questions, my DA blog is queerantivan.tumblr.com

"You don't know how to sew," Dorian reminds him as his shirt falls to the ground.

"So I'll _learn_ ," Vaesar says. He reaches up, carefully touching Dorian's face.

It's a bit disorienting, being in Lavellan's tent in the dark. Dorian was used to do it in his tent when they weren't in Skyhold and he doesn't have it memorized the same way he does his own tent. He's not sure where to step, if he's going to bump into something before he's pulled down onto the bed and, subsequently, Lavellan himself.

"Tell me how brilliant this idea was," the Inquisitor says, his fingers dragging whisper-light up and down Dorian's spine.

"Bull's no shirts idea?"

"The bed idea," Lavellan corrects. "The shirtless idea was  _also_  brilliant, though."

Dorian isn't going to argue that, not with Vaesar's chest pressed against his. Lavellan's skin is soft and warm and he can feel every time the elf breathes in, breathes out, every shift he makes. He props himself up, not wanting to crush him under his weight, just as Lavellan's lips find his neck. They trail up, so slowly, over his jaw until he meets Dorian's parted lips. The hand not moving up Dorian's back tangles in his hair, pulls him closer, and the Tevinter can't for the life of him figure out why they haven't been doing this forever. Vaesar's mouth is addicting, the way his tongue curls against Dorian's dizzying.

The hand on his back glides along his pants, barely slipping under. Dorian groans, tries to swallow it and fails, and Lavellan shakes beneath him, chuckling as if Dorian's response is amusing to him and not embarrassing— which it actually is.

It's not just dating that Dorian doesn't do. He doesn't do  _this_ , touch another person, feel another person underneath him. It's been a very, very long time since he's been in bed with someone else like this, and it's a bit overwhelming how much he wants Vaesar, something he hasn't even really allowed himself to admit until months ago, not even in his own mind.

There's really no denying it, though, especially not when Lavellan's hand moves between them instead of on his back. The sweatpants he's wearing leave little to the imagination, and when Lavellan's hand brushes against him he has to bite down on a gasp that slips out anyway.

" _Dorian_ ," Vaesar whines. It's different from his usual whine, the one he uses when Dorian tells him no, they are not going to Emprise du Lion or no, they're not going to train with the Chargers. This is— this is  _worlds_  different, bordering on needy, and Dorian almost can't handle it. "Just— tell me what you want. I need to know what you want because, fuck, I really don't want to come in my pants but if you keep making noises like that I'm not going to be able to help myself and I'd actually like to get  _out_  of the pants, but only if you want to, too, so it'd be really helpful if you would let me know what you want."

Dorian groans at that, letting his head fall forward into the crook of Vaesar's neck so he can  _breathe_  because he's pretty sure there's a lack of oxygen getting to his brain right now. Either that, or it's just Lavellan making him dizzy and lightheaded. "I'm happy," he says when he can, finding it difficult to articulate what it is that he wants because the list is so vast and overwhelming that it's hard to pick just one, "to take whatever you want to give, amatus."

This time it's Vaesar who groans, and Dorian has no warning before he's being pushed away, falling onto his back with a grunt. He lies there for a moment, completely convinced that he's overstepped and Lavellan is going to ask him to leave, when the elf moves down the bed and blunt teeth dig into his hip.

"I'm going to blow your mind," Lavellan informs him, sounding completely serious. "And your dick."

Dorian snorts out a laugh. "I can't believe you actually just said tha—"

His words cut off with a gasp as Lavellan bites him again, this time a bit harder, while he pulls down the side of Dorian's pants until his hip and the top of his thigh are bared. "As long as you want me to, that is," Vaesar adds.

It dawns on him then, what Vaesar is offering, and it takes him a moment to gather himself before he can manage to get out, "I'm… not opposed to that idea," chuckling.

He feels Vaesar's sigh more than he hears it. "I'm going to add what you just said to my list of things that shouldn't turn me on but do," he says before tugging down the other side of Dorian's pants.

Lavellan wraps a hand around him. His pants are pulled down to rest awkwardly and tight against his thighs, but he hardly notices because Vaesar, never one to hesitate or take things slow, already has his mouth around Dorian's cock, wet and warm as his tongue licks teasingly at the head.

"But," Dorian mumbles, hands curling in Lavellan's comforter. He can't help but remember the last person who did this, how sloppy and hurried it been. This isn't like that. This is slow and teasing, like Vaesar's only goal is to make him writhe (one he is, so far, succeeding at), but that's not— that's just about  _Dorian_  and that's not what he wants. "What about you? I want you to—"

"Trust me," Lavellan says thickly, his hand working lazily up Dorian's length, wet-slick from his mouth, "I like doing this."

"Oh," Dorian says. Well. In that case, who is he to stop him?

Lavellan goes right back to it and, really, Dorian should have probably anticipated Lavellan being amazing at this, but it's not as if he gives much thought as to whether or not the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste is good at giving head. But he is. When Dorian's hand finds his hair, hesitatingly tangling in his curls, trying to hold back a moan, Lavellan pulls off him just enough to let out a teasing laugh before he swallows Dorian back down, as far as he can, tantalizingly dragging his tongue along the underside on the way back up.

There's a moment where Vaesar's mouth goes slack around him, a long moan vibrating out against Dorian's cock, where Dorian almost loses it barely any time into this. But then the dalish pulls off for a moment, panting heavily against Dorian's thigh, and Dorian gets a moment to collect himself. Only a moment, though, because Lavellan seems intent on ruining him and he certainly doesn't give Dorian enough time to actually put himself back together.

Dorian is aware of his halting, panting breaths, but it's more the way that he mumbles, "Vaesar, I— Oh, Maker," that's more embarrassing. His cheeks are burning and he's biting the inside of his cheek to stay quiet, but every time Vaesar's speeds up, bobbing his head up and down quickly, or does that thing with his tongue, Dorian forgets to be quiet all over again and only remembers when he realizes that those sounds are coming from  _him_ and, wow, that is embarrassing.

He wishes he could see, imagines Lavellan's lips stretched around him, hair mused from Dorian's hands, eyes shining that way they do whenever he's done something to make Dorian blush, but he resigns himself to letting his hand fall to Lavellan's jaw, thumb edging along the spread of his mouth.

It doesn't last. Of course it doesn't last. Dorian doesn't even want to know how long it's been since Lavellan first got his mouth on him because he knows it's been a very short time between then and the moment Dorian says, "Vaesar," warning and desperately.

Vaesar doesn't stop; Dorian wonders if he ever really expected him to.

Dorian is still feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm, breathing still uneven, mind foggy, as Lavellan climbs back up the bed and flops down against the pillows beside him. Dorian wastes no time pulling him into a kiss, ignoring the taste of himself mingling with the remnants of beer on Vaesar's mouth.

Vaesar's pants are already undone when Dorian reaches down to try and reciprocate, and the moment he wraps a hand around Vaesar's half-hard cock he hisses in a breath. "Sensitive," he says, pushing Dorian's hand away.

Dorian sucks in his own breath, wondering if it's really possible to be turned on again when he's still shaky from his previous orgasm because— "Did you…?"

"I told you I like doing it," Lavellan whispers, sounding, now that Dorian pays attention, tired and content. The tent goes silent for a while, both of them breathing shallowly, Lavellan's head resting on his chest without prompting. Finally, when Dorian thinks Vaesar's fallen asleep and he's close to doing so himself, Vaesar asks, in an almost timid, solemn voice, "Dorian?"

"Mm?"

"I need…" Lavellan pushes himself up, taking a steadying breath. "I know you're tired, but I need to get this out before we fall asleep. This is important, okay?"

Dorian doesn't trust himself to breathe, to move, but he somehow manages to say nonchalantly, "Okay."

"I need you to say, 'I love you, Vaesar, not the Inquisitor,' for me. Just once."

Dorian blinked in awe and grabbed the hand with the green glow, kissing each finger. "I love you, Vaesar, not the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor sucks!"

"Dorian!"

The next morning they were wakened up by the rustling steps of Bull outside, probably setting the fire and cooking breakfast. They dressed up quickly and not minding the bedhead, they left the tent. Lavellan walked up to Varric while Dorian stretched and put his hands on the dwarf's shoulders, who was watching the flames. "Good morning, Varric. Bull."

"Boss."

"Lucky, Sparkles."

"Morning companions," greeted Dorian sitting down next to the Iron Bull. He served some of the milk that had been heating on the fire and they silently ate.

"So, how did everyone sleep?"

Varric choked and then laughed. "Oh well," answered the Iron Bull, "unlike you two. I knew about the Vint but I didn't know you had it in you, Boss!" he added indistinctly. Dorian and Lavellan's face would have been redder than the fires of Orzammar if it wasn't because of they dark skin.

"Andraste preserve us" said Varric. They quit the Western Approach that same afternoon.

 

 


End file.
